


Fic: All the seasons in one day (STXI, NC-17)

by spockalicious



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Euthenasia, M/M, References to Suicide, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockalicious/pseuds/spockalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shore leave precipitates a series of catastrophic events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: All the seasons in one day (STXI, NC-17)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: character deaths, strong suggestion of euthenasia, strong implied suicide, strong implied alcoholism and associated death, extreme angst
> 
> Do not read this fic if you are sensitive to any of the above listed issues.

It was going to be a routine survey mission. The Enterprise had been in standard orbit around an M class planet ND-393 for six days.

The planet turned out to be a paradise.

Three days into the mission with all reports looking good, Kirk had given the order for brief shore leave on an eight hour rotation basis and as the days passed, on McCoy’s orders “Gimme a goddam break and go find yourself some trouble,” Kirk had beamed down to the planet himself to enjoy a little R&R.

Spock had gone with him.

In a secluded clearing amidst verdant alien foliage Kirk had persuaded Spock to strip off and go skinny dipping. After all, none of the ship’s crew was going to be interested in coming looking for the captain and first officer; they were all too busy having fun themselves.

Spock, even though he still could not comprehend the concept of fun, saw the logic of Kirk’s arguments of course; he always did eventually and by now he had learned that Kirk would get his own way by hook or by crook or by pure persistence. Kirk was and had been nothing less than persistent in a lot of ways lately; not that Spock had voiced any specific objections.

By late afternoon Kirk was asleep with his arms tangled around his naked Vulcan; Spock lay on his back observing clouds whilst listening to his lovers steady heartbeat.

Kirk returned to the ship his usual chipper self; “Bouncy,” Scotty had remarked. Kirk had grinned offering a slap on the back and Spock had studiously ignored the chief engineer as he followed his captain from the transporter room.

In a turbolift Spock became demonstrative and in a moment of boldness brushed his fingertips along Kirk’s and Kirk wondered what the look was in his first officer’s eyes before they both went their separate ways. He would find out later he told himself.

It was three hours later when Kirk felt the first wave of nausea and by the time he finally told himself something wasn’t right and went to sick bay, he just about managed to give the order to cancel shore leave before collapsing.

Spock was on the bridge, stony faced and silent when McCoy comm’d him. “You’d better get down here. He’s asking for you.”

For an hour McCoy had ranted and raged, muttered under his breath and eventually swore at anything and everyone who got in his way, crossed his path, stared blankly, shook their heads or ran away. He threatened several members of the survey team and called all and whoever “Lunatics.” and “Mad men!” hissing “Space is a disease and it’s gonna kill us all!” while he frantically searched for some way to save his patient; the sight of Spock’s impassive Vulcan veneer staring at him from across the room said it all and turned his insides turn to ice.

It was no good.

There was nothing McCoy or anyone else could do and even if there might have been there just wasn’t enough time to put right what was wrong and take it all back to the beginning again and “Why the Sam hell do you go down, onto an alien planet, and go swimming for God’s sake?”

There were no answers. Not this time.

Spock tentatively laced his fingers with Kirk’s, looked down into pain glazed blue eyes that filled with furious tears then back to McCoy who guessed that the expression on the Vulcan’s face was going to be closest thing ever seen to pleading and proceeded to usher everyone out of sick bay. McCoy then did his best to stop or stem the pain and pumped Kirk full of whatever and more on top that he could lay his hands on but to no avail.

Spock patiently waited, affording as much time to the doctor as possible before leaning down and touching Kirk’s sweat dampened temple. He took the pain from his lover into himself, subdued and controlled as best he could and battled with the flood of emotions until Kirk began to calm and the writhing ebbed. Sick bay hushed but for the sound of Kirk’s diminishing heart beat readout and McCoy stood helpless at the side of the bed watching Spock’s lips move in whispered unison close to Kirk’s bloodied own “I don’t believe in no win scenarios.” Spock nodded. “T’hy’la.” Spock’s lips were the only ones that moved.

The shaking started almost immediately.

It began as a mild tremor in the tips of Spock’s fingers and within half an hour McCoy realised he had another crisis on his hands, only this time it was a Vulcan crisis and Vulcans didn’t have crises and he was equally ill equipped to deal with it.

He laid Spock on a bed beside Kirk’s body and watched the Vulcan disintegrate.

McCoy bent his worried head and Spock told him of the depths of Vulcan bondings and bondmates and Vulcan spiritual practices and more and McCoy felt the weight of responsibility press down on him as Spock relinquished his command.

McCoy retreated to his office, took out a bottle of bourbon he had stashed under a pile of debris, put it on the desk in front of him and proceeded to stare at it.

Minutes crawled by.

McCoy grabbed the bottle of bourbon and unscrewed the cap, staring out through the office door at the shaking Vulcan before downing several long draughts of amber liquid. The burn in his throat made him suck air between his teeth but it felt good.. He just wished it could burn away the icy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Alright, we’ll go to Vulcan II, but don’t go gettin’ all grateful on me.” He did not know if Spock had heard him. He was not sure if Spock would be able to hear anything.

McCoy had beamed down to Vulcan II accompanied by a deathly silent Spock laid our on a med bed staring vacantly and shaking like a leaf in the wind and in the hours that followed McCoy had paced the halls of some blank Vulcan edifice in the middle of god knows where until whatever meeting was taking place finished and Vulcan priests appeared out of an adjoining chamber. As they silently filed past him, McCoy felt ice in the pit of stomach again even though he was no expert on Vulcan expressions but the god damn winding knot in his gut told him things were not good and the day wasn’t going to get any better.

It did not.

McCoy had searched and searched and asked and searched and eventually had marched out into the desert under a scorching sun wishing he had brought a hat and sweating until salt stained his clothes. He found Spock standing silently in the middle of a sun baked pan watching the horizon, the dry wind whipping the white ceremonial robe he wore tight against his frame.

“It is best you leave. A storm is coming.” They were the only words Spock uttered and no matter how much McCoy cajoled, soothed, muttered, threatened, swore or “You god-damn green blooded, illogical, hob-goblin.” it was as if he did not exist. Spock stared at the horizon and eventually the grit in McCoy’s eyes and nostrils began to sting and the wind nearly blew him over.

McCoy watched the horizon for one last moment and saw the sky turn filthy red with the rising sand storm and as he staggered away he turned once to see a vague form dressed in white open its hands as if in welcome before the storm swallowed it hole and it vanished.

McCoy decided that Vulcan II was the back end of nowhere and he never wanted to see the stinking planet again. He beamed back to the Enterprise and returned to his quarters and kicked a chair across the room just for the hell of it. He sat down with a PADD in front of him and wrote his resignation to StarFleet.

“Space is a disease and it’s going to kill us all.”

McCoy dug out a bottle of bourbon and crawled inside it. He did not come out.


End file.
